


The Thief

by lettuce_bee17



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, davey's kinda stupid and doesn't realize all the newsies are gay, it's cute i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22607599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettuce_bee17/pseuds/lettuce_bee17
Summary: Thou robb'st my days of business and delights,Of sleep thou robb'st my nights ;Ah, lovely thief, what wilt thou do?What? rob me of my heaven too?Davey is pining after Jack but refuses to admit it because the world was homophobic is 1899 - until he does it on accident.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 4
Kudos: 90





	The Thief

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially inspired by "The Thief" by Abraham Crowley and partially inspired by this tumblr post:  
> https://pawsu-productions.tumblr.com/post/190654961614/really-important-javid-psa-fanfic-writers-out

> _Thou robb'st my days of business and delights,_
> 
> _Of sleep thou robb'st my nights ;_
> 
> _Ah, lovely thief, what wilt thou do?_
> 
> _What? rob me of my heaven too?_
> 
> _Even in my prayers thou hauntest me:_
> 
> _And I, with wild idolatry,_
> 
> _Begin to God, and end them all to thee._
> 
> _Is it a sin to love, that it should thus_
> 
> _Like an ill conscience torture us?_
> 
> _Whate'er I do, where're I go -_
> 
> _None guiltless e'er was haunted so! -_
> 
> _Still, still, methinks, thy face I view,_
> 
> _And still thy shape does me pursue,_
> 
> _As if, not you me, but I had murdered you._

"New kid's right." That's how it started. A dirt covered hand snatching the papers away from me and the angry 17-year-old boy standing up for me. The angry 17-year-old boy who looked as if he had been built to the likeness of Adonis himself and had ended up in the streets of New York City selling newspapers by mistake - Jack Kelly. Why did it have to be like this? Why did Jack have to decide he'd take us as his selling partners? Why did I have to get all caught up in the strike? His hazel eyes shouldn't be burned into my mind like they are. His smile shouldn't dance behind my eyelids every time I try to sleep. My heart shouldn't clench in on itself every time I see him flirting with Katherine or some other girl. I shouldn't feel like my heart will burst from my chest every time Jack Kelly so much as glances in my direction. I should be flirting with the girls in the streets like the rest of the newsies, punching Jack good-naturedly any time one of them bats her eyes at me, just like the rest of the boys do.

It would be so easy if my brain would just be _normal_ and like girls like it's supposed to. But, no. It has to be _Jack_. Everything has to be Jack. It would've been so easy if Jack had just left to Santa Fe after the strike or if he had stayed with Katherine. Maybe then it would've stuck with my broken brain that Jack isn't mine. He can never be mine. He's a boy. Boys don't like boys. Eventually my body will understand that. It would just be so easy if his muscles wouldn't flex like that in the late summer sun. It would just be so easy if he didn't smile like that at me. It would just be so easy if I didn't catch him sketching pictures of me when we sat on the fire escape together late at night. If his tousled hair didn't invade my thoughts as I unwillingly wonder how soft it is. If his annoyingly cute questions about what I was doing wouldn't pop into my head anytime I was trying to read a book or do some of my homework.

And the nickname - "Davey" - in that obnoxiously adorable accent of his. My father's glare when he had first heard it, the terror of what might happen if he ever found out what I've been thinking - if anyone ever found out. He'd kill me, the newsies would hate me. It's wrong. Everything about it is just so wrong.

> _From books I strive some remedy to take,_
> 
> _But thy name all the letters make;_
> 
> _Whate'er tis writ, I find thee there,_
> 
> _Like points and commas everywhere._
> 
> _Me blessed for this let no man hold,_
> 
> _For I, as Midas did of old,_
> 
> _Perish by turning everything to gold._
> 
> _What do I seek, alas, or why do I_
> 
> _Attempt in vain from thee to fly?_
> 
> _For, making thee my deity,_
> 
> _I gave thee then ubiquity._
> 
> _My pain resembles hell in this:_
> 
> _The divine presence there too is,_
> 
> _But to torment men, not to give them bliss._

Jack is staring at me again. I'm just trying to do my homework - not that I've read a word of the poem I'm supposed to be analyzing in maybe the last half an hour. What would Jack say if I told him? He'd probably be disgusted. He'd never want to talk to me - see me - ever again. I don't even have to look up to know he's staring at me. He does it every time he comes over after I have school, saying that he just wants to hang out with me more since I'm not selling papers as often anymore. We don't usually talk. It's always just me reading a book or writing a paper and him watching me do it.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" I'm afraid of the answer, afraid that he knows how much he's been creeping into my mind. I'm afraid that he'll call me out for it, call me a freak, a pervert.

"Ya haven't turned the page in almost thirty minutes." So he noticed then. "Somethin' on ya mind, Dave?"

"It's nothing, don't worry about it." I can't look at him. I know what he looks like when he's concerned about me. His eyebrows scrunch up and he tilts his head in that unbearably caring way. And then he'll grin and lightly punch me in the shoulder and say something like:

"Aw, come on Davey. Can't ya tell me?" There it is. And, of course, I can't tell him. It would break me to hear his reaction. Besides, it's fine, really, no one needs to know. I'll get over it and no one else will ever know. Except that I know that's not true and now I can feel the tears in my eyes. I still haven't looked at Jack. If I look at him then he'll know - and if he knows that there's something wrong then I'll have to tell him. And then he'll leave me.

"Davey -" His hand on my cheek, that's what made me look him in the eyes - that's what I had to turn my head to get away from.

"I'm in love with you." No. no. no. no. The words were quiet and my hand was already on my mouth. If only I could push the words back in. Maybe he didn't hear them - I can't make myself look at him to see. My whole body is shaking. He'll leave me. Everyone will know. My parents will kick me out. I'll lose my own brother, my entire family. I can't tell if I'm breathing too fast or not at all. My eyes won't even shut - they're just staring, wide open at my blankets. Why won't they shut? Why won't he leave?

There's a hand on my shoulder. The same dirt covered hand that snatched those 19 papers away from me at the beginning of the summer. The same hand that stayed on my shoulder and acted as reassurance throughout the strike. Not now though. Why would he put it there now?

"Davey -" He tries again, but I can't let him. I can't hear what I know he'll say while he has a comforting hand on my shoulder and that stupid affectionate gaze in his eyes. When did I look at him? When did my hands leave my mouth? When did I start breathing again?

"No." My words are coming out in a struggle with my breath - my lungs feel like they're going to collapse in on themselves. "I know what you're going to say. But... I can't hear it so... If you could just go." I brush his hand off my shoulder with no small effort. "Please?"

"Davey." Will he stop with the nickname? "I ain't gonna say what you think I'm gonna say."

I've stopped breathing again. Then it's back - with anger.

"Why wouldn't ya? I'm an abomination, just tell me that so maybe I'll finally figure it out and like girls like I'm supposed to!"

"Who says you're supposed to like girls?" 

"The world, Jack. Boys like girls, that's how it is." The tears won't stop falling down my cheek, and why do I want Jack's hand on my cheek again to brush them away?

Jack is laughing. Why is Jack laughing? His hand is actually on my cheek. He's actually brushing away my tears as his deep chuckle reverberates through his chest. Why doesn't he hate me?

"The newsies don't care, Dave." He's still laughing. "I mean, honestly, have ya seen how often Spot comes to share a bed with Race? How did you-?"

The only noise my body will allow to leave my throat is a small, unsophisticated: "huh?" It's still enough to cut Jack off. He stops everything for a moment. He just stops and looks at me - one hand still on my shoulder and the other still rubbing its thumb on my cheek.

"Are ya really in love with me?" He suddenly sounds as scared as I feel. I'm nodding before I realize it or give my body permission to do it. Then, everything comes out.

"I think about you all the time. I don't want to but, you're just always there. Why are you so perfect? You're wonderful and beautiful and no matter what I do I just can't get you to leave my head. I don't even think I've ever been in love before, but with you I just get this feeling in my stomach and I hate it but it's there. And I can't sleep anymore because all I can think about is you and how much I love you. I love your smile and your eyes and your hair and your kindness and your laugh. And I don't know how to deal with it because I just can't be around you without thinking about how much I want to kiss you and every time you come over after -"

His lips are on mine, and then they're not anymore. And now he's laughing again.

"I love you too, Davey." Nothing. Nothing in the world can explain the way I feel. It's fear. It's elation. It's everything and nothing all at once.

He's kissing me again. I'm kissing him back. Both his hands are on my cheeks. My fingers are tangled in the mess of hair on his head. I'll deal with the world some other time. It needs to know that it's wrong.


End file.
